


Bringing Home Strays

by bluemermaid



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Light Angst, Multi, ToT: Chocolate Box, Vaguely AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemermaid/pseuds/bluemermaid
Summary: Steve only half-accidentally brings something home with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csichick_2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/csichick_2/gifts).



Steve closed the door behind him and stood in the entryway for a moment, his eyes scanning the large main room of the house. It had once been designated as a training floor, the rugs peeled away and the furniture removed, revealing smooth hardwood flooring and an empty space for practice fights. The windows were closed but the curtains were open, letting the sunlight into the room, flooding it with pure white light. Steve's eyes narrowed; the place was too quiet.

He startled briefly at the feel of something brushing against his leg, before he remembered what he'd only half-accidentally brought home with him. Leaning down, he gathered a scruffy cat into his arms, smoothing down its fur as he stepped further into the house. "I bet you're hungry, aren't you?" he murmured, stroking the cat's head; it purred in response.

The kitchen was as empty and quiet as the training room; Steve hummed briefly to himself just to break the silence, to fill the spaces which would set him on edge otherwise. He set the cat down on the counter and opened the refrigerator, which he himself had taken the duty of keeping stocked. The Lord only knew who would do it if he didn't; his housemates would starve, most likely. They had other things on their mind.

He gave the cat some milk and tuna and left it to its own devices, slurping away as he stepped out of the kitchen. The apartment had the illusion of being larger than it actually was; the main training room was the largest space in the house, the rest full of much smaller chambers. It had been designed for those who would be used to cramped quarters.

But Steve didn't even bother checking the other rooms. When the place was so silent as to instill a sense of unease, there was only one plausible explanation. Most of the bedrooms went unused the vast majority of the time. They sought their freedom elsewhere.

He took the stairs two at a time, moving perhaps quicker than normal yet without any sense of urgency. His heart told him what he would find, and Steve trusted his heart more than his mind when it came to his housemates. He would not acknowledge that to be a weakness of his. 

Pushing the door open, he emerged onto the roof of the building, the cool air of late afternoon striking his face immediately. Scanning the area, he caught sight of exactly what he had hoped to find: two dark figures sitting on the ledge, close enough to feel one another's presence yet with a distinct distance between them.

Both heads turned briefly to glance upon the intrusion to their escape, their bodies remaining motionless, knowing that there was no threat. It would always be Steve coming to find them.

"I brought you something," Steve said, stopping some distance away, hands on his hips as he surveyed the scene, a hint of a smirk on his face. He was never sure how to approach, what to say, when they were having their roof moments. Neither of them wanted to be told that they were weak, that they had moments where the house was too suffocating, where they longed for freedom from their own minds. Steve would never ask them if they were okay; he didn't know what sort of answer he might receive, whether truth or lies would result. He already knew what the truth was, anyway. It was something in between okay and not okay. He had accepted that, and accepted that they would not give voice to that.

Bucky was the first to react, smiling as he moved off the ledge. "Dinner, I hope," he said, his voice quiet without weakness, somehow somber and content all at once. He moved closer, reached his hand out slowly, nearly touched Steve before hesitating, dropping his arm back to his side.

Steve clasped his shoulder. "It might be better than that," he replied with a smile.

Natasha flung her hair back over her shoulder as she slipped off the sill, her eyes remaining wary even as a smirk spread across her lips. "I don't know what's better than not starving," she said.

"Come downstairs and find out." Steve had not allowed himself to be joyful, to take pleasure in such little things, for quite some time. Seeing them now, however, both of his housemates before him, both of them trying so hard to get back to normal after all they had been through both together and apart...knowing what awaited them downstairs in the apartment...he grinned, feeling a lightness to his step that had not been there for some time.

And though he could not see them as he walked far ahead back down the stairs, Steve could somehow sense their hands clasped together, Bucky and Natasha sharing silent comfort as they followed their Captain.

Nat laughed first, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen as she watched the little cat drinking its milk. "It's a cat," she said. "Why did you bring home a cat?" She tilted her head at him. "Don't we have enough strays in this house?"

She was joking, and Bucky playfully nudged her in the side for saying it. "It looks like you," he told her, "Scrawny and ginger." He laughed.

"More like fierce. If the cat doesn't scratch you, I will," Natasha told him.

Steve shook his head with affection and rubbed the back of his neck. "The little fellow just sort of followed me home," he said. "It wasn't really a planned thing."

"If anyone could make a cat follow him home, it is definitely you," Bucky said. He slung an arm over Steve's shoulders, leaning hard against him. "You bring home all the strays."

They shared a look then, the three of them, eyes darting back and forth as their hearts beat with such silent adoration. Not often would they speak of their pasts, of their troubles, of their undying devotion to one another. They were not so fond of spoken emotion. None but Steve, who drew them both in close and pressed gentle kisses upon their foreheads. "If you're strays, you're _my_ strays," he told them. 

Later, they would jokingly refer to the cat as Winter Widow, the representation of the strays, the monikers of the misunderstood. The cat turned out to be quite affectionate, as would the other occupants of the apartment. One just had to know how to treat them.

Steve knew.


End file.
